The Sword of Gryffindor
by Quillian
Summary: Ever wonder where Gryffindor's sword came from? COMPATIBLE AS A SIDESTORY TO THE HEIR OF GRYFFINDOR


**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Harry Potter, etc.; J.K. Rowling does.

**SUMMARY:** Ever wonder where Gryffindor's sword came from?

**NOTES:** I originally wrote this to fit as a side-story what I call the First Version of my fic "The Heir of Gryffindor," and it also happens to fit what I call the Revised Version. Now, I've merely fixed it up to make it compatible the Definitive Version.

* * *

_**The Sword of Gryffindor**_

_By Quillian_

_(originally named Kraeg001)_

* * *

It was a new day.

The sun crept over the horizon, the dew sparkled on the grass, the birds were calling their first songs of the day, and the people in the village arose.

One of them was a young man by the name of Godric Gryffindor. He was one of the bravest people in the land, and he had a dream: To found a school of magic.

He had sent messages with envoys to a few other magical people in Great Britain, another man and two women. They also had ideas, and they would meet soon.

Gryffindor had several reasons for wanting to start a school, apart from the noble cause of the teaching the next generation of students. He wanted to shield them from the Muggle prejudice against magic these days; however, he knew that they did it mainly out of fear for what they didn't understand. The other reason was because of how evil people took advantage of whatever went wrong into the world for their own gain.

Gryffindor came from a proud family. It wasn't exactly rich, nor entirely a magical family either. However, it lived by codes of honor. To respect all life and other people, whether or not you agreed with their beliefs or not. (It was when they killed because of what they believed in that they crossed the line). To defend the weak. To have humility. To live chivalrously, bravely and with nobility.

Today, Godric Gryffindor, a man in his early twenties, would be going to a local wizard to receive his sword he had paid to be crafted. The morning light seemed to highlight his dirty blond hair, almost to the point where it gleamed like gold, which when combined with his red robes, gave the impression that he had a lot of fire within him.

Gryffindor walked into the hut of the old wizard and looked at the sword, which had just been cooled down. It was marvelous: The sword was delicately crafted, from its silver blade down to its ruby-embedded handle. It was a perfect mix of strength and speed. Just fitting for this lion-hearted man.

"You want me to put on a special name for it?" the elderly wizard asked him.

"No, that's fine," Gryffindor said. "Just put on my own name, so people will know it's mine, and my descendants will remember their ancestor who first owned it."

The wizard shrugged and complied, starting to engrave the name onto the sword itself: GODRIC GRYFFINDOR.

Gryffindor took off his hat and wiped his brow, since it was getting hot in the forge. "I will definitely be proud to own a fine masterpiece of weaponry such as that," he said quietly to himself.

"What are you doing, talking to your own hat?" the older wizard joked.

Gryffindor smiled a little. "No, you know hats can't talk." Upon further thought, he then added, "Although, come to think of it, I probably _could_ make it talk if I tried…"

Once done engraving his customer's name onto the sword itself, the smith wizard handed it to Gryffindor. He took it and followed the other man outside, to a fencing range.

Gryffindor loved the feel to it, which seemed to have a personality like his own. When he was done and completely satisfied, he paid the older wizard for the handiwork and returned to his hut.

He found a messenger waiting for him. It was a letter from the other witches and wizards who wanted to form the school. They were to meet a week from now, at a potential site north of the border between Scotland and England.

Gryffindor was pleased. Today was just getting better and better. He thanked the messenger, paid him, and went inside to start packing.

The whole time, Gryffindor never took his eyes off the sword. He was proud of it. And somehow, he knew that one day, his descendants would be proud of it as well.

_**FIN**_

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed this. –_Quillian_


End file.
